THE SHADOWING HORSEMAN
Grey was completely surprised at himself as he leaped to his feet and
hurried to Donnie's side. He could not account for the anxiety which now
filled his heart. Had anyone suggested such a thing a week before he
would have laughed him to scorn. Had the Major sent him in quest of a
horse it would have stirred him about as much as going forth to find a
stolen child. With him sentiment had no place in the undertaking. It was
stern, iron duty, and nothing more. But this sudden interest was
something for which he had not planned. The child sitting there before
him was more than a mere pawn in this game he was playing. It appealed
to his nature by its very helplessness and confiding manner. The
pinched, drawn features, the frail cough-racked body and those large
blue eyes looking so beseechingly up into his rough bearded face sent a
peculiar thrill through his heart.
"What's wrong, old man?" he asked, placing his hand upon the little hot
forehead. "Too much water, eh?"
At once Donnie stretched out his hands, and slipped from the Indian
woman's lap.
"I wants my mother," he wailed. "Take me to my--" His words were cut
short by another fit of coughing, and he stood trembling there, a
pitiable figure of distress. At once Grey reached down, caught the child
in his strong arms, and held him close to his breast.
"Can't you do anything for the boy?" he demanded, turning to the Indian
woman standing near.
The latter slowly shook her head, and spoke a few quick words to her
husband who was stirring the fire. Deliberately straightening himself up
he confronted the constable.
"Can't you do something?" Grey repeated. "Baby sick. You savvey Injun
medicine? You make him well?"
"Me no savvey," was the slow reply. "Me no ketch 'um root. Me notting
here."
"But the child will die! See how he coughs."
"Me no savvey," was all the Indian would say, and Grey realised that no
help could be expected from these natives.
What was he to do? Could he permit the child to die without an effort to
save his life? He had suffered for him already, and would all that he
had done amount to nothing? He thought of Big Glen. Oh, to have him
there, in his mother's tender keeping. But that was out of the question.
Next he thought of the Hishu village. Would he find assistance there?
Would anyone know what to do in such a place? It was not likely, and yet
it was worth trying. He turned to the Indian.
"You savvey white man over there?" and he pointed away to the left.
"Ah, ah, me savvey 'um," was the reply.
"How far?" Grey demanded.
"White man cabin over dere. Wan sleep? No."
"What, can I get there to-night?"
"Ah, ah. Sun heem come up dere, sun heem go down dere. White man cabin.
You go, eh?"
"Yes, yes, I must," and Grey looked intently at the coughing child.
"You cally bah-bee, eh?"
"Certainly. What else can I do?"
"Bah-bee velly seek. Bah-bee beeg. White man no strong. Bime by stop.
Soon all sam bah-bee."
Too well did Grey realise the force of these quaint words. He was
feeling the effect of his experience in the icy water, and his body
ached. The child, too, was large for his age, and to carry him all day
long over a rough trail was utterly impossible. And yet he was willing
to try even the impossible rather than stay there and see the lad die
without an effort to save his life.
The Indian watched him closely, and, noting his determination, an
expression of satisfaction appeared upon his tawny face.
"White man no squaw," he remarked. "White man all sam beeg chief. Me
help white man."
"What, will you go with me?" and Grey looked his astonishment.
"Ah, ah. Hishu Sam help white man cally bah-bee."
The eastern sky was flushed with the radiance of the rising sun as
constable and Indian started forth with the little child. The trail,
worn by numerous moccasined feet, wound and twisted for weary miles
through the vast wilderness. Here it skirted and crossed open plains
covered with wild bunch grass and sage brush. There it dipped into deep
valleys where the trees stood thick and grim. At times it circled around
ragged ledges where the foothold was precarious. The sun rose and swung
clear of the tallest mountain peaks. It rode high in the heavens, and
poured its hot beams upon the hurrying wayfarers.
Often Grey's steps faltered as he staggered up some steep incline, and
his feet were sore from contact with snags and sharp stones. Not so the
Indian. He seemed tireless. Light of heel he sped forward with a
rhythmical springing gait. His slightly stooping form, long and lithe
from hips to shoulders, was the very embodiment of physical endurance.
Such strength and grace of movement filled Grey with profound
admiration. Of what avail now was his own special training? He had
excelled in running, jumping and swimming. He could pull an oar with the
strongest, and on the baseball field could tantalise a crack batsman
with cranky balls. He had prided himself upon his prowess, and ever
struggled to be first. But here was one of nature's own children, an
uncouth native, putting him to the blush.
The Indian insisted upon carrying the boy, and Donnie no longer
objected, but lay quietly in those great strong arms. Instinctively he
felt that the powerful stranger was his friend, and would do him no
harm. Hishu Sam seemed to think nothing of the lad's weight, and when
Grey tried to relieve him of the burden he would always refuse with an
emphatic grunt and a shake of the head. At noon they paused to rest by
the side of a little babbling brook, whereupon the Indian brought forth
a piece of dried salmon, and shared it with his companions. Donnie
hardly touched the food, but Grey ate eagerly, for he was hungry after
the long tramp. He sat on the ground with the boy on his lap, and gently
stroked his curly head. Donnie was feeling somewhat better, and the
cough was not so troublesome. He even smiled, a wan little smile, as
Grey told him a simple story he had heard when a child. The Indian sat
silently near, steadily smoking an old blackened pipe. He, too, was
interested in the lad, and gave a brief grunt of satisfaction as the
child smiled.
"Look here, Sam," said Grey as they were about to resume their journey
and the Indian had risen to his feet, "how much do you want for helping
me out to-day?"
"What you mean?" came the reply. "Me no savvey."
"How much I pay you? How much money you want?"
For a minute the native did not reply. He stood like a statue. Then he
turned his piercing eyes full upon the constable's face.
"Me no tak pay," he almost fiercely rejoined. "No, no, ugh!"
"But why no take pay?" Grey insisted. "You save baby's life. You do much
good."
"No, no, me no tak pay. You savvey Injun bah-bee in camp?"
Grey nodded.
"Wan, two, seex winter mebbe, Injun bah-bee velly seek. Heem no get
well. Me no feex 'um. Me velly seek here," and he placed his hand over
his heart. "Me t'ink bah-bee die. White man, beeg, beeg Chief, heem come
'long. Heem see bah-bee. Heem do all sam dis," and he knelt upon the
ground. "Heem savvey all sam Medicine Man. Heem mak Injun bah-bee well.
Heem no tak monee. Heem good man. No, no, me no tak monee. Me all sam
white man."
"You savvey white man?" the constable asked.
"Ah, ah."
Grey was about to question further when the Indian gave a sudden start,
and pointed to the left. Following the direction of the finger the
constable noticed a man astride a cayuse on the high bank of the river
about two hundred yards away. Whether a white man or an Indian Grey
could not tell, but he appeared to be watching them very closely. This
incident, trifling as it seemed, aroused in Grey a feeling of
apprehension. So intent had he been upon the child that he had almost
forgotten his fears concerning the Hishu region and the characters he
knew had their abode there. Perhaps this was one of them. Anyway it was
as well to hurry forward out of that desolate place before night shut
down.
Hour after hour they plodded steadily forward, their eyes and ears
keenly sensitive to any sound or sight of the strange horseman. Once
only did he reappear. They had paused for a brief rest in a valley, and
to drink of a stream whose water ran icy cold from the mountains, when
he had suddenly darted out from a hill above and peered down upon them.
The Indian had laid his hand upon his rifle, and whispered, "Me feex
'um." But Grey shook his head, and the native had desisted. Although he
felt that the rider was following them for some sinister purpose, it
would not do to enter Hishu as blood-stained travellers. And, besides,
there was the strict command instilled into every new recruit not to
shoot first. "Get your man," was the brief stern order. "If you don't
get him, it means three months' hard, and if you shoot him it is all the
same, with perhaps dismissal tacked on." No, Grey was not going to run
counter to such orders. Anyway, what good would it do? Perhaps after all
this was a harmless horseman, watching them out of mere curiosity.
He thought of these things through that long afternoon. Would the trail
never end? It seemed like a week since they had left the camp. The child
slept much of the time in those tireless dusky arms. Occasionally he
awoke with a cry of fright, and the annoying cough would sweep upon
him. He was becoming weaker, Grey could see that, and his heart ached as
he watched the limp, pathetic figure, and the face all too white. "What
must be a mother's love?" he asked himself over and over again. "If this
little lad I have known such a short time appeals to me so strongly, how
must she feel who suffered for his sake, and watched over him for three
years?" At such times his hands would grip hard the rifle, and a scowl
would furrow his brow as he inwardly cursed the villains who had torn
away this sweet, innocent child from his mother's tender keeping.
The sun was swinging low in the heavens as slowly and wearily they at
length toiled up a steep incline and reached the brow of a high hill.
Here the Indian paused, and pointed to the opposite side of the valley
lying snugly below. Grey, following the direction of the outstretched
arm beheld several log buildings, nestling among the trees on the
farther hillside. To the left flowed the Hishu River, glimpses of which
could be easily observed from their high vantage ground.
"Hishu," the Indian quietly remarked. "Ketch 'um bime by."
Grey's heart thrilled as he shaded his eyes and scanned the little
settlement. And this was Hishu, the spot toward which his face had been
turned for weary days. He smiled as he thought of the wild
blood-curdling Indian tales he had heard. What of the savage Indians and
the monsters of the mountains? How tame and commonplace everything
seemed, and Hishu was only that straggling cluster of houses over there
in the distance. It was simply a mining camp, and no doubt all of the
rascals who had kidnapped the child had gone down in the Klikhausia
Rapids. His heart was lighter than it had been for days, and he
descended the hill with a new springing gait. He began to see the end of
his venture, the quiet return to Big Glen, and the child safely restored
to his mother.
The trail was becoming easier now, for numerous feet had worn it smooth.
On both sides of the way signs of woodsmen's axes were visible in the
many stumps dotting the land. Ere long the first house burst upon their
view as they emerged from the forest. It was only a rude log cabin, but
how good it looked to Grey after that long desolate trail. The building
was standing by itself, no other cabin being visible. Of its isolation
he thought nothing then, but only of the shelter and relief he might
find for the child. The door was open, though no one was to be seen.
With the customary freedom of the frontier he gave a loud rap, and
entered, the Indian following with Donnie in his arms. The room was not
large, but clean, while a few rude benches, a couch and one table
adorned the place. In a far corner were several shelves on which stood a
number of black bottles. All this Grey observed at a glance, for
scarcely had they entered ere a curtain was drawn quickly aside, and a
woman stood before them. Grey started back in amazement, and gave vent
to an ejaculation of surprise. Men he had expected to find in Hishu, but
not women. His astonishment was succeeded by a feeling of joy. How
fortunate, he thought, that she is here, whoever she might be. She will
be able to help the boy better than men.
The woman was neatly dressed, of medium height, and at the first glance
fair to look upon, although her face was somewhat pale. Her eyes were
what fascinated the constable. They were cold steel grey, piercing in
their intensity. They were cruel eyes, devoid of the softening grace of
pity. To them tears of sorrow or sympathy seemed unknown. A faint
semblance of a smile flitted across her face as she observed Grey's
unaffected stare. She took a step forward, and then,
"Who are you," she demanded, "and what did you bring that brat here
for?"
If Grey was surprised before he was completely dumbfounded now. He did
not expect this. Presently an idea flashed through his brain. He glanced
again at the bottles, and from them to the woman's face, and then he
understood.
A coarse laugh greeted his embarrassment. She had divined his thoughts,
and it pleased her.
"Don't like the place, greeny, eh?" she sneered. "You needn't stay;
there's the door. But I guess you'll soon get used to it. All the men
here have except one d-- fish, and I'll have Buckskin Dan yet."
At this Grey found his tongue. He knew now what kind of a character he
had to deal with. Her rough talk and heartlessness nettled him.
"I don't want to stay here," he replied, "but you might do something
for this sick child. He'll die, otherwise."
"Let him die, then," came the cruel response; "he'll be better off."
"And you won't care for him?" Grey questioned.
"Oh, I'll not turn the brat out. Throw it on the couch there. What's
wrong with him anyway?"
Briefly Grey related the story of the wreck in the rapids, the rescue
from the icy water, and the effect upon the child.
A sudden change passed over the woman's face as she listened to the
tale.
"And you say the men were drowned?" she cried when Grey had finished.
"Yes."
"My God! What will Bill say?"
"Bill who?"
"Siwash Bill. Don't you know him?"
Grey was about to reply in the negative, when he suddenly started, and
stood as if transfixed. The sound of someone singing had reached his
ears. It was a woman's voice, full of unutterable pathos. It sounded
nearer now, and he caught the refrain:
"Somewhere, somewhere, beautiful isle of somewhere,
Land of the true where we live anew,
Beautiful isle of somewhere."
The singer by this time had reached the door, and the song ceased. She
was a young woman, slight and beautiful, who crossed the threshold,
carrying a sunbonnet in one hand and a bunch of wild flowers in the
other. Her eyes glanced for an instant at the bearded stranger standing
in the centre of the room. Then they rested upon the child lying on the
couch and with a cry of surprise and delight she darted forward and
knelt down by his side. Later when she looked inquiringly around Grey
was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared, and only the woman with the
hard eyes was standing before her.